Tag Archives: Masturbation

Yesterday I was in a funk. Couldn’t concentrate on much of anything, felt all kinds of out of sorts, and though I tried, I couldn’t write. It had started with a text from the one who’d shattered my heart a few years ago telling me he was coming to town. No “hello”, “how are you”, or “sorry for being such a dick”. Just a single line and the unwritten expectation that I’d suddenly drop everything to go see him. It made me angry, then hurt, then sad, and opened that old wound to the point I felt I was bleeding again.

I hate being in that place, the one where it hurts to breathe, and you see nothing but red and black. The place where all the questions haunt you, taunting you with ‘what-if’s’ and ‘what-might-have-been’s’. It’s the place where you second guess yourself and wonder what exactly are you worth anyway, and why is it that no one has ever stayed? I don’t like to write about that place, almost as much as I hate being there. I kept trying to distract myself from thinking, and when that didn’t work, I desperately just wanted to go to sleep. Sadly, every time I tried I ended up getting up again because I couldn’t.

Sir called me this morning, and at first things were fine, but then He asked me what I had done last night. I had watched a movie, trying to be distracted and get myself out of that place. I had gone to bed early for me, around 10pm, but I wasn’t sleeping well. I woke up around 1am, got up and started reading and commenting on some articles on fetlife.

But I didn’t write. There was no new journal entry for Him to read this morning.

I won’t try to write out the entire conversation here, but suffice it to say that I screwed up. I didn’t realize exactly how until He explained it me, but He was right. I spent yesterday absorbed in my own thoughts, focused on me and what was going in my head, instead of giving priority to the task He had given me. To complete the writings about our journey thus far. Instead of giving priority to Him and want He wanted first and foremost over anything else.

So I am to receive a punishment. Ten lashes with the cane at our next session. The first time He ‘demonstrated’ to me the feeling of the cane on my bare skin, I was terrified of ever having to feel that more than once. I’m terrified now. I ended up crying during the conversation, both from knowing that I’d done something to disappoint Him (He didn’t use that word specifically, but it’s the only one I can think of at the moment that fits), and from fear of knowing that I would have to be punished for it.

Toward the end, He started to reassure me that I was special and said some very sweet things that made me cry even more. The why of that is an entirely different topic that I’ll delve into at some point, just not right now.

“I want you to go to your room, take out your vibrator, and when you’re all set up, call me back and masturbate for me.”, He told me, then said goodbye and hung up.

I went into my room and did as He said, laying down on the bed with vibrator and phone and called Him back. Tears were still rolling down my cheeks and I was afraid. Afraid I wouldn’t be able to switch emotional states quickly enough, to go from crying to turned on, mind completely blanking out everything but the upset over knowing I had failed to do what He wanted. How the hell am I supposed to feel sexy right now, I thought to myself.

“First, stop crying.”

That wasn’t too difficult, I’m old hat at turning my tears off (the quiet ones anyway, not so much the sobbing ones). The emotion behind them, though, is something else entirely. He wanted me to describe what I was thinking about as I brought myself to orgasm. I froze, again the mind drew a blank on where to even start, fumbling around in the dark, looking for the light switch that has “sex” on the label.

I do have to say thank goodness for vibrators. I switched it on and placed it just so, and when it touches that spot, there’s not a lot your mind can do to override the feelings that begin to pulse and wind themselves through your body. The phrase ‘mind over matter’ just doesn’t seem to apply when you have something thrumming in high gear against your clit.

He talked to me, and when He spoke I no longer had to fumble around for something to arouse me. His voice does that. So that is what I thought about, His voice, the things He says to me, the tone He uses… His voice in my ear brought an image of Him into my mind as clear as if He was laying there beside me. Looking into the eyes of this image, the orgasm He asked for wasn’t long in arriving.

“Now”, He said, “I don’t want to talk to you again until I see you tonight.”

He hung up the phone. I was still breathing hard, pulse pounding in my ears, the image of Him still there beside me, His voice still playing through my head like an echo in a canyon. I brought myself to orgasm twice more before I finally got up, grabbed my ipad, and began to write.

Possess:
verb
– own, have, hold, be in possession of, be the owner of, have in your possession, have to your name
– control, influence, dominate, consume, obsess, bedevil, mesmerize, eat someone up, fixate, put under a spell
– seize, hold, control, dominate, occupy, haunt, take someone over, bewitch, take possession of, have power over, have mastery over
― Collins Thesaurus of the English Language

I have to write about this now, before the feeling starts to fade even the tiniest bit.

Hours later, it remained. I opened my eyes from sleep and it was as though no time had passed at all. Still tingling all over, my first waking thoughts not thoughts at all, but the lingering blaze of His touch on my body, and it came again, the shortness of breath, heart pounding, aching…

I could only think in moments.. Flashes that were repeating in my head over and over again, just as they had hours before when I finally found release as He had told me to do. My fingers teased my body while my mind was lost in the replay…

His hand twisted into my hair as we stood at the bar. His breath filling my lungs as I tried to catch my own when He kissed me. His touch on the skin beneath my shirt, grasping, squeezing, releasing. His teeth biting my lip. His arms around me as we danced. His hand around my throat as He held me close to him. Him leading me through the crowd, hands on my arms, something about the way He did it that is beyond my understanding at the moment.. The tone in His voice when He said I’m beautiful. Feeling His hardness beneath my hands and seeing fire in His eyes. My ears hearing Him say talk to me, overwhelmed, I could find no words but for these…I..can’t. Euphoric, erotic, time altering, world disappearing, floating through space, and yet tethered to Him by His touch.

As I reread what I just wrote, I made an interesting observation. Though to some the description may sound the same, this is not romance. This is possession. I feel sorry for any women who has never felt the difference… and more deeply thankful than words can express to have been given that gift again.

“He called to her primal side; the ancient aspect of her animal self that wanted to submit. It wanted to submit to him; to sacrifice all of who she was at the altar of his maleness and lay herself bare for his taking.”
― Dianna Hardy, Releasing The Wolf

“I didn’t get to see all your pictures yet, but what I could are amazing.”

I felt that familiar blush of happiness in knowing something I had done had pleased Him. I couldn’t help but smile.

“So I have a thing where I name all my subs. I’m having a hard time coming up with yours.”

“I’ve only ever had one nickname,”, I told Him, and said what it was.

“No, you need a much sexier name.”

“I love that You think that way about me.” It thrilled me that He did. When He looked at me, I could feel it emanating from Him, and thinking of that look aroused me. Speaking of the pictures… “I would love to get your feedback on them, more specifically which ones you liked best and why. That’ll help me tailor any future ones for you. This time I was mostly just guessing.”

“You did a wonderful job. I did notice that in every one of these pictures you had clothing on. Not that I complaining, but why did you not have any nude pictures?”

I explained that it was because He had specifically asked for pictures of me playing with my new toy. The photographer in me had purposefully left only that specific part of myself uncovered in order to focus the eye to that area.

However, that was only part of it. I don’t think naked photos of myself are pretty at all. They’re just…naked. Naked, in my view, is not artful or elegant, or even particularly attractive in most cases, unless one happens to be a gorgeous model with an absolutely perfect body. So, whilst, photographically speaking, remaining clothed to the greater degree made perfect sense, in a much more personal way I had also done so because I didn’t feel comfortable being nude on camera. I so badly wanted the pictures to be pretty for Him, but as we talked I began to understand that I had viewed them through the lens of what I consider pretty, not what He might actually enjoy more.

Insecurities are such an awful thing, rearing their ugly little heads when we least expect them.

“I will have to warn you…I will become upset if you think that I am wrong… If I tell you I like your body, it will upset me if you try to cover it up or become embarrassed being nude around me.”

It’s amazing to me how He can put things into such a different perspective and open my eyes to something that I hadn’t seen on my own. He was entirely correct. By feeling ashamed to be nude on camera for Him, I was essentially saying that there is something wrong with my body, and if that is the case, then He is wrong to find it attractive.

I absolutely enjoy that He is attracted to me, so how can that exist in the same space as the body issue I’d exhibited?

He told me to stand. I rose up on shaky legs, and stood upright. I hadn’t the courage to look Him in the eyes yet when He took my hand and told me to give Him a tour of my home. We walked around with me, naked as a jay bird, introducing each room, then back to the living room we went.

To be honest, here is where things started to get a little fuzzy. I remember what happened, but in bits and pieces with hazy parts in between, and trying to put things in sequential order from what happened first to what happened last is difficult. I’ll do my best to put them in the order I think they may have happened, but don’t quote me on it.

I remember being on the couch, sitting, with my legs open wide, bent at the knee, my feet on the edge of the couch, looking at His face through the ‘V’ they made. I don’t remember actually sitting down to get that way.

I remember Him placing a vibrator in my hand and telling me to use it, but not to cum until He told me to. I don’t remember where He got it from, or how He managed to get me to do another thing I’d never done before, getting over being too shy to masturbate for someone, while they were watching, but I do remember doing so, over and over again.

I remember watching Him leave the room to go out to His car and get His things. I don’t remember how the dining room table got turned into a nicely covered play-station or seeing Him come back inside. He was just simply there again.

I remember at some point being face down over the table, and Him spanking my bare ass with first the flogger, then one well-placed swat with the cane (that one switch being enough for me to decide that I have a very healthy sized terror of that particular implement, thank you very much). I don’t remember if that was before, or after, my standard dining room table got converted into a padded spanking bench.

I remember standing before Him, arms outstretched, so that He could tie a beautiful purple rope around my body, and I remember seeing it in the mirror when it was done, and then He took pictures of me in it. I don’t remember the time it actually took for him to tie it.

I remember getting up on the table, and Him putting my legs into position, grasping my knee and beginning to wind the rope around it into the first knot. I don’t remember feeling every knot as they were tied, only the occasional snaking of the rope against my skin.

I remember the blindfold going on, and then Him tucking earphones into my ears. I remember music blaring into them, and then curiosity replacing fear. I don’t remember what He started with after that, whether it was the flogger or the suction things or which order whatever He did to me was done in.

I remember my nipples being on fire, then not existing at all, then suddenly being so incredibly sensitive it felt as though each one had spontaneously decided to turn itself into an additional clit and refused to be relocated into the right place. Strangely enough, I don’t remember that same experience happening where my true clit is actually located, even though photographic evidence proved He put the same device on all three places.

I remember feeling Him place a device between my feet, and then feeling it come alive, thrusting in and out of my body like a piston in some as yet uncreated, science fiction type, machine engine, designed to propel people through space at umpteen miles per hour. I don’t remember how long that lasted, but I can say it was a seriously intense fucking, and yes, I meant to use that word expressly.

I remember small slaps on my body, jolts of pain that broke through the fog I was in, and momentarily caused me to focus all the cells of my body on that particular spot at that exact second. I don’t remember how many of them there were, or how many times I was brought out of the haze of pleasure, only to slip into it again.

I remember lying on my my bed, my skin against His, but I don’t remember getting off the table.

I remember Him telling me to get on my knees and position myself over His head, I remember the instruction to use the vibrator again while in that position, and I remember after I came how He told me I had squirted and drenched Him. I don’t remember if that orgasm took seconds or hours to arrive, but I do remember it being so powerful that I actually saw little flashes of bursting lights while my eyes were closed. And I do remember Him telling me to do it again.

When I say I don’t remember, it’s not as though there are parts of my memory that blacked out. I was stone cold sober. It was more like watching a movie at a drive in theater through a windshield covered in rain. I do remember, but not in high def. It’s as though, in intervals, someone switched the HDTV with an old set top reception one, and then when I wasn’t looking, they switched them back again.

Time did some crazy things to me that night. I do remember a few times when He would say to me, “Do you realize that….amount of time has passed since I did….?” Nope, can’t say that I did. I was incredulous to learn that what I’d thought had only taken moments, or minutes, had actually been hours upon hours.

I remember watching Him as He cleaned up the mess in the dining room and put His toys away. I don’t remember what, if anything, was said as He left. I don’t remember setting my alarm or putting myself to bed, or locking the door for that matter.

He gave me many experiences that night that were Firsts for me, and I know without a doubt that those memories are indelibly seared into my mind and will remain, for as long as I still have the ability to remember.